


Paths Less Traveled

by SensationalSunburst



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Multi, OT3, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Spoilers for the Witcher 3, protective yennefer of vengerberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSunburst/pseuds/SensationalSunburst
Summary: “How did you manage that?” Jaskier whispered, gesturing wildly. “I’ve been trying for a week! A week, Yen!”“Sedatives.” Yennefer said. Her voice was nonchalant, almost bored, but the fingers she was running through Geralt’s hair were unquestionably soft. “You can speak normally, he won’t wake for hours yet.”ORAfter a week of sleepless nights leading up to the anniversary of the Battle of Kaer Morhen, Yennefer 'helps' Geralt get some sleep and peeks in on his dreams.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 15
Kudos: 235





	Paths Less Traveled

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this game came out years ago, so I don't think is quite spoilers. But if you haven't gotten past the battle of Kaer Morhen in The Witcher 3, I'd look away.

“How did you manage that?” Jaskier whispered, gesturing wildly. “I’ve been trying for a week! _A week_ , Yen!”

“Sedatives.” Yennefer said. Her voice was nonchalant, almost bored, but the fingers she was running through Geralt’s hair were unquestionably soft. “You can speak normally, he won’t wake for hours yet.” 

Geralt was utterly boneless, head pillowed in her lap and wrapped what must have been every blanket they had in the house. They were huddled on the floor before the fireplace, Yennefer leaning against the grand chair she’d forced Geralt to haul from the upstairs study with a stack of books by her side. His mouth was slack, face free of the canyons of wrinkles usually found between his brows. Even so, his week of sleepless nights had left heavy purple bruises under his eyes, made more vivid by the pallor of his skin- pale enough to rival the ever rising tide of snow outside. 

Jaskier stepped carefully anyway, lifting the mug from Geralt’s limp fingers before tucking the witcher's hand under the blankets. Jaskier sniffed the mug, frowning when he detected nothing but the scent of mulled wine. 

“I’m not an amateur," Yennefer snapped, "You won’t smell it if he couldn’t.” 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, settling across from her near the fire. He held frozen fingers to the crackling flames and sighed as the heat chased away their numbness. He’d cut his performance at the local inn short, unwilling to get stuck in the snowstorm away from home.

Yennefer remained silent for a long, heavy moment. Jaskier, used to Geralt's silence, looked over his shoulder and found her staring down at Geralt, watching his eyes flicker beneath his lids with something like regret in the slump to her shoulders. “He forgot Vesemir was dead.” 

“Oh, _Geralt_.” 

“It’s almost the anniversary, I know, but he mentioned that Vesemir would be furious if the snow made its way into the lab again.” She looked up, violet eyes glistening, “His _face_ when he remembered…” 

“When’s Ciri set to arrive?” Jaskier asked, turning to fully face them. 

“Not until next week.” 

Jaskier hummed, a sound borrowed from their Witcher and stood. “I’ll assume you haven’t eaten then.” 

Yennefer shook her head, gesturing towards Geralt's dead weight in explanation. Jaskier understood; Geralt was a Wolf but he was, at his core, a cat. And you don't move when a cat has chosen to nap on you. Geralt groaned softly, causing the pair to freeze in place, but he only turned his face further into Yennefer's lap. 

“I’ll get started on dinner.” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt grumbled again, the sound reverberating from deep within his chest. Yennefer frowned and shifted her hands, placing one against his temple and the other down to rest atop his chest. He settled, but Yennefer could feel a roll of unease from his mind, likely nightmares, and she was unwilling to have him wake from much needed rest because of a few imaginary specters. 

She knew he wouldn’t appreciate her meddling, but he could hardly expect anything less when it was so simple a spell to step into his dreams.

She closed her eyes, dragged the potted tree next to the chair closer for fuel and pressed her Chaos out, “ _Mir' me_ _dearme_.” 

* * *

"Eskel, where's Vesemir?" 

Yennefer opened her eyes to find herself standing along the battered remains of Kaer Mohren’s battlements. The fortress was as quiet as she remembered it but for the repetitive sound of a whetstone over steel. Overhead, the sky was cloudless and clear, the wind whistling through the abandoned mountains with a sigh.

Before her, back against one of the crumbled walls, a little boy was calmly sharpening a sword that was about as big as he was. It was unmistakably Eskel. He couldn’t have been older than eight, but he was wearing a miniature version of the witcher's favored armor and his mouth was still curled into a permanent sneer by the gruesome scar that Yennefer knew he hadn’t gotten until decades later.

"Gone," Eskle said calmly. He didn’t bother to look up at the other little boy standing across from him, "You know that, wolf." 

"Where?" 

"Dunno." 

The other boy, Yennefer realized, had to be Geralt. He looked very little like her witcher. His fluffy hair was dark brown, but he still had his witcher’s eyes and the deep scar that sliced across his cheek. But his cheeks themselves were fuller, bronze with sun and flushed as if he'd been running. He was tiny, spindly thing; lithe and free from his near constant bruises and library of sundry monster scars.

Little Geralt crossed his skinny arms over his puffed out chest, distress in the tense lines of his shoulders until he turned to storm away and spotted her. 

“Yen!” His face broke into a wide, delighted grin, sharp canines glistening in the sun, “Good! Help me look. You’re good at finding things.”

Normally, the dreamer would realize they were dreaming when they saw the caster of this particular spell, but Geralt immediately accepted her in his dreamscape. The blind trust made her stomach swoop low and she offered no resistance as he grabbed her hand, grinning with childish glee, and tugged her down a crumbling set of stairs into the courtyard below. 

“Lambert,” Geralt said, pulling them to a stop under the shade of what had once been a massive willow, “Where’s Vesemir?” 

Child Lambert, curled into the tiny hollow of the dead tree, looked just like his older self, especially when he glared from behind the towers of books he’d surrounded himself with. His eyes were deep green, not yet the eyes of a witcher, and they didn’t spare her a glance as he sized Geralt up. 

"Dunno, don't care." Lambert snapped, shoulders rising to his ears, "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Your _eyes_." Geralt gaped, "But- You're younger-" 

"You're only a few decades older than me, dipshit." The curses sounded bizarre from the high pitch of the child's voice, "Don't patronize me." 

"I'm-" Geralt took a threatening step forward and Lambert coiled in response, but Geralt froze as he seemed to remember that Yennefer was there. With a lightning quick glance he checked her over, then stepped back with a heavy sigh, "I need to find Vesemir."

"I don't care!" 

"Yes, you do." Geralt said, "You care a lot." 

Lambert shrank even further in on himself and his shoulders started up in a fine tremor before he abruptly _exploded_ in rage. 

The boy shrieked, tears filling his eyes as he hurled the book he was reading with all the force in his tiny body. “No! I don’t!” 

Geralt dropped Yennefer’s hand and ducked left to dodge the first book. The second struck him in the shoulder when he skirted right to block the book headed for her, but Geralt ignored the impact to leap forward and smack both of his hands against Lambert’s cheeks, stunning him into silence, “It’s okay. I’m going to find him.” 

“He’s _gone_!” Lambert cried. The sound was harsh, like it physically hurt him to make it, and he curled in on himself, smacking Geralt’s hands from his face to sob into his lap. “I hate him! I hate him so much!”

Geralt stepped back and reclaimed Yennefer’s hand to guide her away. She allowed herself to be led, fighting against the growing weight of guilt in her belly. It had been Lambert's adult voice at the end, torn with misery, and Yennefer didn't think that Geralt had to work very hard to imagine what that sounded like.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Geralt said quietly. 

“I know.” 

“He’s just scared. We can’t find Vesemir and he’s… he’s _Vesemir_. He’s supposed to be here.” Geralt said, “He’s always been here.”

“I know,” Yennefer said, swallowing thickly, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve looked everywhere.” Geralt explained desperately, “Yen, I've looked _everywhere_. I can’t find him.” His voice was shaking, as was his hand, and she realized with a horrified start that his amber eyes were glistening with tears. “I have so many _questions_ and I know Ciri has been looking for him too, but we can’t find him.”

Yennefer sank to her knees, there in the broken courtyard of Geralt’s nightmare, and pulled him into her arms. He collapsed against her, wrapping tiny arms around her neck, fighting with tears audibly caught in his throat, “He knows so much more than me, Yen. We can’t do this without him- but he’s not here. You have to help us find him.”

"Of course," She shushed him, petting the back of his hand with a shaking hand, “Of course I will.”

“Yennefer.” It was a voice so full of reproach, of resigned frustration that Yennefer would know it anywhere. Remember it for all time. 

_Vesemir_. 

“Look, Geralt,” Yennefer said, spinning the boy in her arms to face the specter, “You found him!” 

Vesemir’s expression was caught somewhere between fond and exasperated- a familiar look for the grizzled witcher. It was curious, she thought, that Geralt would imagine him as old as he’d been when he died instead of young like his brothers- but she knew the logic of dreams was shaky at best. 

“Vesemir!” Geralt cried, hurling himself into the witcher’s knees, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been?” 

Vesemir knelt and put his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. The witcher was taking in Geralt's face like he'd never seen him before, thumbs tapping against the boy's knobby shoulders. It was was more tender a look than Yennefer had ever seen the witcher give in life, full of the kind of affection that she was hard pressed to believe had ever been shown to Geralt during his training. “I’m on a different Path now, wolf, you know this.” 

“No,” Geralt shook his head, “No, you don’t understand. I _looked_ and you weren’t here. You said you’d always be here but we couldn’t find you- Lambert _cried_.”

“Geralt.” Vesemir said sternly, “You know the truth. You _know_ what this is.” His eyes momentarily flickered up and above Geralt’s head to sear into Yennefer. 

They were as blue as the seas of Ofir with round, human pupils and more emotion than she'd ever seen on a dream. She felt her face go slack, mouth dropping open in realization as _Vesemir_ looked right back. 

“ _Melitele…_ ”

“Must you always meddle, Yen?” He sighed.

"She helped find you." Geralt defended, "Be nice." 

"You could say that, but now she has to go."

" _N_ _o_!" Geralt snarled, "No, I only just got her back." 

Vesemir's judgment was a weight she thought she'd never feel again, but it felt just as harsh as it always had when he leveled his glare at her. She didn't know what to think of the fact that she'd missed the feeling. 

"Everyone just needs to stay put.” Geralt continued, “Just stay where I can see you." 

"I must go, Geralt." Vesemir said seriously, "Our Paths have diverged. Witchers don't indulge in such things as denial." 

"Don't," Geralt lunged forward and wrapped his hands around Vesemir's sword straps, "I'm sorry! Vesemir, I'm sorry!"

"A Witcher never-" 

“-dies peacefully in bed, yes, but fuck, Vesemir! I _might_. It’s _done_ and you could have been there- _should_ be here and I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry I couldn’t save you.” 

"Don't waste time trying to blame yourself, you stubborn child." Vesemir said, moving his hands up to cup Geralt's cheeks. Yennefer couldn't see Geralt’s face but his shoulders were shaking in earnest, heaving in a way she’d never seen before. She wouldn't be surprised if he was crying. _She_ certainly was. Tears came unbidden, streaming in a way that meant she wouldn't be able to stop anytime soon. 

“They- We’ve abandoned the fortress. Gave it back to the mountains. There’s nothing… nothing left of you but Jaskier’s songs and memories now.”

“And you."

"What?"

"There's you, Geralt. You and your brothers and Ciri. That's more of a legacy than I could have ever hoped for, my boy."

"Vesemir, don't go." Geralt begged, suddenly an adult, suddenly as big and then bigger than Vesemir, bloodless hands still clawed in the old man's armor. 

"Yen," Vesemir nodded, effortlessly prying Geralt's hands loose. He grappled to maintain his grip, but couldn't find purchase. She crawled forward and curled herself around Geralt's heaving shoulders, stomach lurching as the spell began to unravel without her command. 

"Vesemir, please!" 

"I adore you, Geralt, my stubborn boy." Vesemir said, fading with the dream, "We'll meet again on a new Path. Until then, farewell." 

* * *

“Yen?”

Waking up was like getting dunked in ice water. Every muscle in Yennefer’s body seized at once, cramping painfully from the snapback of the spell's abrupt ending. She gasped and only registered Jaskier’s voice when he lunged to keep her from kneeing Geralt in the temple by hauling him upright, still limp as a ragdoll.

“Are you alright? What the hell happened?” 

She ignored him in favor of checking over Geralt, relieved to find that he was mercifully still asleep despite the rough handling. 

“Give me a moment,” She said. She helped him shift Geralt into his own lap, shaking out her numb legs as soon as the bard was settled and put her head in her hands. 

“Yennefer, what the fuck? You were crying. _Geralt_ was crying.”

“He was dreaming of Vesemir.” She said after a moment, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she wiped at her damp cheeks, “He was a little boy at Kaer Morhen with Eskle and Lambert. He couldn’t find him and was asking for help.” 

“Gods,” Jaskier breathed, “Were they cute as kids at least?” 

“ _He_ was.” She confirmed, leaning her weight back onto her hands. She could smell something stewing now, rich and hearty and hopefully heavy. Magic always made her hungry. “Lambert was a little monster but Eskle was just a miniature version of himself.” 

“Then Vesemir showed up?” Jaskier guessed. His eyes were trained on Geralt, looking intently for any sign of discomfort or distress. But the witcher’s face was just as smooth as before, still lax with sleep despite the rapidly drying tear tracks flowing down and into his hair. 

“Yes, but… but it was truly Vesemir, not a dream.” 

Jaskier’s head snapped up with an audible pop, jaw open. “No. How?”

“I don’t know, but it was him. He kicked me out of the dream. Broke my spell. Feels like I got sucker punched." 

“That’s the least surprising thing about the entire situation.” Jaskier gently shifted again, resettling Geralt’s head so it was at a more comfortable angle, “How is he still asleep?” 

“Horse sedatives, I told you.” 

“He’ll be grumpy when he wakes up.” Jaskier warned, “You know he hates it when you read his mind.”

Yennefer shook her head and dabbed her eyes with her sleeves, “Somehow, this time, I doubt that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I knew what was going to happen going into this quest and I STILL cried.  
> Who do you want to see play Papa Vesemir in Netflix's the Witcher?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
